


Becoming the Wolf

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Stiles and Derek are really emotionally constipated, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Derek Hale is going to bite me tonight, and I’m going to be a werewolf in less than five hours,</i> Stiles thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic wouldn't have come about without my beautiful beta and wonderful helper [mirajanescarlet](http://mirajanescarlet.tumblr.com/) (that's her tumblr!); she totally encouraged and helped me when we were talking and I said, "I want to write a werewolf!stiles fic, I just don't think I can do it. Also, I want it to be chaptered, I'm just the messiest writer in the world. I don't do well with outlines." To which she responded, "WRITE IT. I'll help you with the outline."
> 
> Help, she did, because this fic wouldn't have been born without her spectacular ideas, her help planning the outline, and her editing. :) 
> 
> There are a few things to know first: right now this fic is at PG13, but it could go up at some point in time.  
> Currently, there's an unknown number of chapters, but I'm working on getting that sorted out.  
> This is a future!fic. As in, everyone has graduated college and come back home to Beacon Hills.  
> Feedback is always appreciated!

Stiles has been preparing for this moment for a while now. He’s an analyst, his job is basically researching, listing, and presenting, and that’s exactly what all his research has been leading up to: a big presentation. He doesn’t want to make a show of it, but he sure as hell wants to make everyone know that this is what he wants. 

He’s sure of it. 

The list goes on and on, really. He’s been writing it down, researching lunar cycles, researching meditation techniques to keep himself calm. Stiles can _do_ this, no doubt about it. He stares down at the list, where _I’m the only human left, and I suck at being one,_ is scrawled next to a sloppy _#1:_ and blinks. There’s more, too, like, _I’m extremely clumsy. I’ve been shot several (read three) times by various objects (AND BEING GRAZED COUNTS!), I’ve been kidnapped four times, I’ve broken exactly ten different bones now (both wrists count!), I feel weak, I want to be stronger (those aren’t the same things!), I want to be faster (so I can run from said hunters or some freakish supernatural being)._ Underneath all of the items on the list, written in a tinier print is, _I just want it._ Stiles thinks his list is reasonable, will help him to rationalize that he’s old enough to make this decision; that this is really, truly what he wants.

He just doesn’t think Derek is going to agree. But he’s going to try anyways, because this is what he _wants._

==

“No.” 

Derek says it before Stiles even gets the full sentence out, ignores the list he’s clutching in his hands, and glares hard at Stiles. Stiles opens his mouth to speak again, but Derek shakes his head, and there’s a flash of red at the edges of his pupils when he grits his teeth and says again, “No.”

“You’re not being fair,” Stiles says, rushed, so he can fit it in right before Derek growls loudly and stalks towards him, with the full intent of intimidating him into accepting his response. 

Which is exactly what he does. 

The rest of the pack is in the living room, ignoring Derek and Stiles’ argument, just like always, and Derek moves in closer, like he’s contemplating whether he should rip Stiles’ tongue out, or just go for it and tear his throat out. Stiles swallows, “I have a list.”

Derek cocks his head to the side and stares at him; Stiles takes it as a gesture for him to go on, so he shoves the list forward, pushing it up against Derek’s chest, and tries to control his breathing. Derek ignores it for a moment, just staring at Stiles, like he’s trying to decide if Stiles really wants this and isn’t just jerking his chain, or whatever. Finally he reaches down and plucks the list out of Stiles’ fingers, eyes skimming over it. 

It takes about a minute, and then he’s shaking his head again. “No,” he says, this time a little more insistent, if that’s even possible. 

Stiles says, “Derek,” and tries not to make it sound like a whine. 

Derek’s eyes flash again, and he growls. “You’re being ridiculous; you’ve made it just fine up until now, Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Did you even _read_ the list?” He flicks at it with his fingers, “Shot! Kidnapped! Broken bones, bruises, clumsiness – there are reasons why I want this, Derek; don’t make me keep going.” 

Derek inhales sharply, “ _No,_ Stiles. Jesus.” He pinches the bridge of his nose like Stiles is the most annoying kid on the planet, and he has to babysit him. 

Stiles feels something sharp and hot like anger rise up inside him, and he tries to control it, before he yells, “You’ve given _everyone_ else this when they wanted it, Derek. I waited _years_ to ask. Don’t fucking make me beg. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

Derek looks surprised, like he didn’t expect Stiles to bring that up, like he thought Stiles would just take this lying down. But Stiles _wants_ this, he _does_ know what he’s doing, and he’s determined to get it. Even if he does have to beg, and he wouldn’t put it past Derek to make him. 

There’s a minute of silence, so dead Stiles can hear the _tick-tock_ of the clock as he and the pack wait for Derek’s answer. He knows the pack is listening – that’s why it’s so dead silent. He doesn’t care, he just stares up at Derek, determined and a little angry now. He doesn’t understand why Derek won’t just _give_ him this. “I’ve never asked you for anything,” Stiles tells him, “Never, not once, in all these years have I asked you for one thing, and look at all I do, okay? I’m fucking good at what I do, and I love doing it for the pack, but I want to feel _safe._ ”

Derek’s nostrils flare, and he says, “What? Eight werewolves don’t make you feel _safe_?”

“Not when they’re all split up, fighting off the latest crazy-attack!” Stiles shouts, arms flailing. Derek looks down at him, and for a second, Stiles feels sixteen again, frustrated and nervous, flustered. He hates that feeling. He’s not a gawky teenage boy anymore, he’s a grown man, and he can make decisions for himself. 

There’s another minute of silence before Derek says quietly, “Fine.”

Stiles says, “That’s not fair, you can’t just keep telling me no, it’s – wait. What?” he blinks and looks up at Derek, who looks minutely amused, but still angry and frustrated. 

“Fine, Stiles,” he says, and Stiles breathes out slowly. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, “Okay. You’re going to give me the bite.” 

Derek walks out of the kitchen. 

==

 _Derek Hale is going to bite me tonight, and I’m going to be a werewolf in less than five hours,_ Stiles tells his reflection, standing in the bathroom. 

He tries to refrain from having a full-out panic attack, because dammit, this is what he _wants._

Lydia pops into the bathroom on her way out of the house. “Good luck,” she tells him, “don’t die.”

Stiles swallows. “That was completely unnecessary; like I don’t have enough to think about, Lydia. I mean, God. I’m about to get bitten by a werewolf who’s angry with me at _least_ ninety percent of the time. I’m already terrified he’s going to rip my heart out, or my lungs, or my kidneys or something when this goes down.”

Lydia doesn’t even look impressed by his ramble, studying her nails and rolling her eyes while he talks. When he’s finished, she looks up at him and offers a smile. “Sure,” she says sweetly, which. No. It doesn’t even make sense, but Lydia has a way of making even the most confusing things seem right, so Stiles just rolls with it. It doesn’t make him comfortable thinking maybe Lydia could _help_ Derek tear him apart limb from limb. She reaches up and pats his cheek.

“Good luck,” she says again, and then disappears. 

Stiles says, “Oh, God,” to an empty room, and stares at himself in the mirror in horror. 

==

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Scott demands, looking up at him. Scott’s still in his scrubs from work today, and he looks tired, exhausted even. He’s coming off a three day on-call shift, but he still looks determined to pull Stiles away from danger if he needs to. Behind him, Allison makes them all coffee, and sets it down on their kitchen table. 

“ _Yes,_ Scott,” Stiles tells him, nodding in thanks to Allison. 

Allison says, “I don’t know, Stiles. I’ve been reading every book I can on lycanthropy ever since I took over the library, and I’m sure you’ve read them too. But are you sure you’ve got a good Positives vs. Negatives list? You’re sure you know all the dangers?”

Stiles just looks at her for a long moment, and he feels a little like Derek for doing it, until he says, “Allison, I’m an _analyst._ This is my job. Trust me when I say that I’ve compared absolutely everything when taking my life into my own hands. Which is exactly what I’m doing, even more so than running around as the lone unarmed human of our pack.”

“ _I’m_ human,” she frowns, pulling her glasses off her nose to stare at him questioningly.

“You’re also a badass who knows how to shoot several different types of bows and guns; you can wield a knife like no one’s business, and you can do hand-to-hand combat,” Stiles ticks off her strengths on his fingers. Allison looks a little pleased with herself for a moment before she snaps out of it and frowns again. 

“I’ve offered to teach you,” she replies. 

“I almost _shot myself_ with the bow and arrow,” Stiles cries. “Besides, I know how to use a gun – Sheriff’s son, you know – it doesn’t make me feel any better about myself. That’s not the only reason, anyways.”

Scott sighs. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want you to regret this. You were so dead-set on staying human for so long.”

“I wanted to be _sure,_ ” Stiles argues. “I’m sure now.”

Neither Scott nor Allison look convinced, but Stiles doesn’t care. He sighs, and stands up. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to go home and face Doom.” 

Scott _does_ snort with laughter before saying, “You brought this on yourself, man,” and Allison just shakes her head. 

“Hey,” Stiles says thoughtfully on his way out the door, “You don’t think Derek will rip out any vital organs when he does this, do you?”

The lack of response from Scott and Allison is neither help nor comforting. 

==

“Please don’t rip my organs out,” Stiles pleads, lying back on his bed, staring at Derek with wide eyes. “I mean I know I asked for this and you don’t exactly agree, but I’m counting on the fact that you don’t _actually_ want me dead, because then who would make that really awesome casserole from my _grandmother’s_ recipe for you? I know you love it, Derek. So just… keep me alive.”

“Stiles,” Derek growls. 

“And who would clean the house, oh, god. You’re all terrible at cleaning up after yourselves, you _need_ me around,” Stiles says quickly. Just thinking about the mess that would be created if he weren’t here makes him anxious. 

“Stiles,” Derek says again. 

“And I mean, I have a pretty important job – people across the country look me up to help them, you know? I’m good at what I do; I’d be missed and loved. I know, I know, it doesn’t _seem_ like that, but it is actually the case – what are you doing?” Stiles blinks as Derek crawls up on the bed, over his hips. 

“Shut up,” Derek hisses, and his eyes flash red while his teeth elongate. 

Stiles swallows. “Sure, shutting up. I can do that. I can definitely do that.”

Derek studies him for second before he leans down. “Oh, God,” Stiles says weakly, “You _are_ going for my throat.” 

Derek huffs against his neck before he says, “Take your shirt off.”

“What.” Stiles says, but it’s not a question. It’s more like resignation that _should_ be question, one that he knows Derek won’t answer, but he has to say it just ‘cause he can. 

“Your shirt. Off.” Derek says, and Stiles sighs. He sits up and reaches a hand over his head, tugging his off and throwing it across the room. 

Derek just blinks at him for a moment, and Stiles says, “Um, maybe we should –” 

He’s cut off by Derek pushing him flat on the bed, leaning down, and sinking his teeth into his side. “Dear God,” Stiles yelps, “I was _going_ to say, ‘maybe we should count down from ten.’ Clearly you’re a firm believer in the ‘takes-you-by-surprise’ method. Jesus, ow, ow, ow,” Stiles breathes out. 

Derek looks smugly satisfied. “There,” he says. 

“Fucker,” Stiles hisses, glancing down at the bite mark. 

He thinks Derek even smiles a little, before he says, “Go to sleep, Stiles. If you can.”

“Hey – what does that mean? Derek – what does that _mean_?” he calls after Derek, but Derek just disappears from the room. 

“Jesus wept,” he says to the ceiling. “Seriously.”

==

In the morning, the bite mark is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are going to need a _dentist_ for all that teeth-gritting and grinding,” Stiles tells him.
> 
> “Stiles. Shut. Up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Nothing, except for the fact that I am EXTREMELY sorry for how long this took to be updated.   
> It took a little longer than I expected to get this out.   
> Betaed by the ever-beautiful MirajaneScarlet who also helped, helped, HELPED outline this chapter and chapter three. she fixes all my mistakes, but any mistakes left are my own.

Stiles stares at himself in the mirror, unblinking. The bite mark is gone, and Stiles knows what that means. The bite _took._ Oh, God. The bite _took,_ and Stiles is a werewolf now. He swallows back the acid burn in his throat, and keeps staring. It’s not just knowing he’s a werewolf now, either.

His senses are overwhelming him. He’s never smelled so much – he always had pretty bad year-round allergies that were kept barely under control by nearly every allergy medication he could mix together. His eyesight was never terrible, but now it’s _beyond_ perfect, to the point he can see the tiny grains on the wooden cabinet. His taste buds are all… wrong. It’s overwhelming, and Stiles sort of hates it a little. 

There’s pounding on the bathroom door, and Stiles jumps a little at the _loud_ noise, resisting the urge to cover his ears. “Stiles!”

Stiles winces. “Stiles, come out of there now!” Isaac’s worried voice echoes in the room, and Stiles sighs. 

“Isaac,” he says, swinging the door open, “I’m fine.”

Isaac blinks, and backs away. “No you’re not,” he shakes his head, “You’re scared. Your pulse was through the roof, not to mention that… your eyes,” he finally says. 

“What?” Stiles asks, turning around to look in the mirror. Oh, fuck, his eyes are the amber color that hints that Stiles is _this_ close to losing control for some reason, and he blows out another sigh, closing his eyes and reopening them. 

Still amber. 

Stiles tries to use some of the calming meditation techniques he helpfully researched when he was gathering information, but they don’t work. Stiles blinks rapidly three times in a row. Still wolf-eyed.

“Isaac,” he says, a little panicked. “Help.” 

Isaac steps up, pats him on the shoulder, and says, “You need to get control. You need to think about something that’s going to ground you, Stiles. Anything. You’re newly turned, any little thing will eat at you. You might _lose_ your control sometimes for a while. It’s okay.” Isaac says it all in a soothing voice, slowly rubbing up and down between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

Stiles feels a wash of calm come over him, and he watches in the mirror as his eyes slowly return to their normal color, a wave of relief washing over him. Isaac gives him a gentle, kind smile. “See?” he says, “It’s all okay.” 

Stiles just keeps staring. 

He feels more than a little hatred towards his own decisions right now. 

==

“Hey,” Stiles greets Boyd, Derek, and Isaac in the kitchen. Boyd and Isaac offer him smiles, and Derek grunts at him as he pours himself a mug of coffee. Stiles is determined not to mention the fact that he’s really hating on himself at the moment, because then Derek will turn and arch his eyebrow, giving him a look that will say, _I told you so. You’re such an idiot._

Stiles doesn’t want that at all, so he pastes a smile on his face and dives for the cereal. It’s a move that Before the Wolf, would have sent him sprawling across the kitchen floor, face first. Now, though, he catches his balance easily, straightens back up, and stands still, surprised. Derek is staring at him with the _you’re an idiot_ look anyway, and Stiles crinkles his nose up at him, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. 

“Can’t say much,” Boyd says in his deep, rich voice, sounding amused, “but we can say your balance will be better.”

Stiles flips him off and pours some Cocoa Pebbles out into a huge bowl. 

“His appetite hasn’t changed any,” Isaac chimes in, offering Stiles a cheesy grin. Stiles shovels the spoonful of cereal into his mouth and resists the urge to grin toothily at Derek when he growls at how sloppy he’s being. Instead, he keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth, barely taking the time to chew. 

“Hey, I mean, slow down,” Isaac says, sliding the cereal box towards him before Stiles can leap across the table for it. “You’re going to choke yourself.”

Stiles swallows noisily and says, “If I haven’t managed to choke myself yet, I think I’m okay.” 

After he’s finished with his cereal, he goes to place his bowl in the sink, but he forgets his strength, and instead of gently setting the bowl down, he _slams_ it down, and the bowl shatters. “Fuck,” he hisses, staring at the shards of ceramic lying in the sink now. 

“Are you okay?” Derek rushes over, looking down at Stiles’ bleeding hand. They both look down at it when the bleeding slows, and the skin slowly starts to heal itself right before their eyes. Derek blinks, shocked for a second, like he, too, forgot what Stiles was now. Stiles feels something like happiness wash over him at the fact that he’s not the only one who forgets. “Oh,” Derek says, almost surprised at himself. 

“Fine,” Stiles says, holding his hand up, where only some dried blood remains. He chuckles a little, “Obviously, huh?”

Derek’s eyes flash with a hint of some emotion Stiles can’t figure out, and then he turns around, disappearing from the kitchen. Stiles blinks after him for a moment before he says, “Oops,” and turns to clean the sink out. 

==

It’s everything, Stiles thinks, as he tries to slow his walking. Everything has changed. Stiles is still himself, but he’s not as jumpy. He’s calmer, because the wolf tames his ADHD. He moves quietly, he has more balance, and he has perfect eyesight. Stiles can’t decide if he likes it or not, because he was used to being the person he was. He can’t decide if he likes it or not because he almost misses the buzzing in his blood, signaling a frantic energy inside of him. It’s tangible, just there, like someone stole it away from him, and Stiles feels uncomfortable without his brain firing at ninety miles an hour. He misses the way he always has to balance himself when he’s walking or running, the way he has to squint just barely to make out the words on the stop sign a hundred yards ahead; now, he doesn’t do any of that. 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, “control yourself.” Stiles jumps a little, overwhelmed but the scent of Derek crowding in close to him, by the way he can suddenly hear Derek’s calm heartbeat, signaling that he isn’t really angry with Stiles, just a little irritated. 

Stiles says, “Haha, control myself; it’s like you don’t _know_ me or something, honestly.” Derek’s eyes flash red for a moment. Stiles hears the beat of his heart speed up a little bit, signaling more than major irritation is washing over him. Stiles swallows. “Okay,” he says, “maybe I could try and control myself.”

Derek shakes his head, “You’re too jumpy, too pumped up. What’s going on, Stiles?”

Stiles swallows and shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing is going on. I’m just… adjusting to all of this. It’s a lot to handle, and I have to pace myself. Can you blame a guy? He goes from being some dorky dude to a werewolf in the space of ten hours, and he’s suddenly got all these enhanced senses.” Stiles’ mouth is dry as he swallows back the rest of his sentence, the words, _and I’m not sure I like it. I thought I was prepared, but maybe I’m not._ Wanting to tell Derek everything is a new feeling – it must be the pack bond officially settling in – but he knows Derek won’t want to hear it. 

He can already hear his I-told-you-so’s ringing through the air. 

Derek breathes in and out before he says, “Okay. Fine. Go run.”

“What.” It’s that same word, the one that should be a question but isn’t, and Stiles just blinks at Derek. They were supposed to head into town, meet up with Danny and Jackson at The Coffee House, but apparently there’s a change of plans. 

“Go. Run.” Derek grits his teeth, like it’s painful for him to be instructing Stiles at the moment. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for the whole running-in-the-woods-like-a-creature-of-the-night thing,” Stiles starts, only faltering a little when Derek growls. Just because he’s a beta werewolf who is under Derek officially now doesn’t mean he isn’t still going to argue and challenge Derek every once in a while. It’s their thing. They’ve been doing it since the beginning of all the freaky werewolf shit. Stiles’ personality hasn’t changed _that_ much. “I mean, there’s a lot of potential danger out there for me. I don’t even know what I’m doing. What if I get lost, or run into one of the Argents out for a casual stroll, or… I don’t know. A freaky supernatural being comes out and starts trying to attack me.”

“Stiles.” Derek says it simply, but his teeth are grinding together. 

“You are going to need a _dentist_ for all that teeth-gritting and grinding,” Stiles tells him.

“Stiles. Shut. Up.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something more, but Derek growls loudly, and Stiles shrinks back a little. “First of all, you’re not a ‘creature of the night,’” Stiles thinks the air quotes were a little rude. “Second of all, you’re a _werewolf_ Stiles. Defend yourself if you get into trouble. And I have no doubt that you will _find_ trouble.”

“I don’t find trouble,” Stiles mumbles. “Trouble finds me.”

Derek points to the edge of the forest. “Go,” he growls, “before I do something extremely painful and potentially harmful to your person.”

“ _Rude,_ ” Stiles says, but walks tentatively towards the edge of the forest. 

There’s a rumble behind him signaling that Derek is getting irritated again. “Just run, Stiles.”

The sad part is, the wolf inside Stiles desperately craves it. To get on all fours and run, to feel _free_ for the first time since Stiles was turned. Stiles can taste the air on his tongue, can already feel the way his claws will dig into the dirt, finding purchase as he takes each new, improved, speedy step. He needs this, he just doesn’t _want_ to need this. 

Derek says, “ _Stiles._ ” Stiles swallows.

“Going – I’m going,” he says, and then he walks a little faster towards the tree line. Right before he’s about to take off, he turns and flashes a grin at Derek. “Catch me if you can,” he teases him, and then he lets his wolf take over, eyes turning amber and claws coming out as he rushes into the forest. 

He hears Derek’s now playful growl behind him, and starts running. 

==

It’s a little like flying, all this speed Stiles has now. There’s air rushing past him as he runs, he skillfully avoids branches, trees, and bushes like he’s never had the ability to do before, and he can see everything up ahead of him for hundreds of yards. There’s nothing but the smell of leaves and pine, fresh air, coming into his nostrils, and he’s on all fours, going, going, going. 

He can hear Derek behind him, so close, and he loves the thrill of being chased. Of being able to go head-to-head against the rest of his pack mates, finally. Of finally _belonging,_ and feeling fierce and determined. He hears Derek’s playful growl once again, a signal that he’s fast coming up on Stiles’ heels, and he speeds up. The forest is a blur of browns, greens, golden and red as he flies past, laughing quietly to himself. 

They run in circles for a while, until finally, Stiles feels like he could maybe be breathless. He whips around to tell Derek that, just in time for Derek to tackle him to the ground. “Caught you,” he says, eyes still red and a grin curling around his sharpened canines. 

Stiles laughs, laughs until he’s really, actually breathless, and then sprawls out on the forest floor. “That was good,” he tells Derek. Derek is lying next to him, staring up at the canopy of trees shielding them from the sunlight. His lips curl up into one of his rare, meaningful smiles, and he nods.

“You’re not half bad,” he tells Stiles, and Stiles punches him in the shoulder. 

“Dude, I’m way awesome,” he replies. “Race you back to the cars?”

Derek gracefully jumps to his feet, and it’s as Stiles is getting to his own feet, that he realizes he can move just as fluidly. It’s an odd feeling, a strange taste at the back of his tongue, but he pushes it down, ignoring it. He’s going to _enjoy_ this. 

Derek loses.

==

“No, no, no,” Danny says, slapping at Stiles’ hand. Stiles gives him a hurt look.

“Why not?” he whines. Danny glares at him. 

Danny says, “The last time you touched our espresso machine, we had to call in an espresso machine expert to fix it. I was not happy, and when Jackson saw the bill, he was even _less_ thrilled.”

“It was _broken before I touched it,_ ” Stiles insists, but glumly sits back down at the counter and watches as Danny makes his coffee for him. Danny pushes it towards him and Stiles inhales the scent of freshly made coffee, just the way he likes it. It’s a stronger scent now, like Stiles can almost smell the creamer and sugar mixed in with the coffee. When he takes a sip, it too is stronger. Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about it. 

Danny arches a brow at him. “Stiles, are you alright?”

Stiles shrugs, sighing, “I have a lot on my mind, Danny, and it’s taking some time to get there.”

Danny’s eyes widen, “Oh, you figured it out?” he asks him. 

“Figured what out?” Stiles asks him slowly. 

“Nothing.”

The reply is quick, guilty-sounding, and Stiles can hear the _thud-thud-thud_ of Danny’s heart, quick and nervous. “What, Danny? What are you talking about? Have I figured out that being a werewolf means having all these weird senses, and now I can smell when someone is wearing not particularly clean clothes? Yes, yes I have. Have I figured out how to pace myself when walking? No, no I have not. Have I figured out –”

“Yes to all of those,” Danny says quickly, hoping it will shut Stiles up. “I’m going to get Allison and Lydia more coffee.” And he disappears, the smell of his guilt still hanging in the air. 

“What _ever,_ ” Stiles huffs. 

Jackson is the next person to approach him, looking predictably grumpy about having to talk to Stiles, like it’s a personal offense that he has to communicate with people so below him. “Wow,” Stiles says, “don’t try to look happy about seeing my awesome face or anything.”

“Your presence,” Jackson says, gritting his teeth, “is greatly appreciated.”

Stiles arches a brow.

“Danny wants me to work on my people skills,” Jackson finally admits, throwing his hands into the air. “I _suck_ at it, okay? I hate people. Especially you,” he shoots Stiles a dirty look. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Danny says I spend too much time in the office instead of out here where I should be.”

Stiles says, “Um,” and nothing else, because he’s not sure what Jackson _wants_ him to say. Finally he says, “I’m just here for the pack meeting.”

“You suck,” Jackson hisses. 

“Awesome people skills,” Stiles says brightly, “You really have that inviting air about you, dude. I can’t _wait_ to come back.” 

“I will tear your lungs out.”

“Threats, threats,” Stiles sighs. “I’m hurt.”

Just as Jackson is about to launch over the counter, Danny comes back, and Jackson stills himself, offering him a smile. Danny smiles back. “Could you get some of those muffins Boyd made earlier for everyone?” he asks him, and Jackson nods, brushing a hand across Danny’s back as he walks into the kitchen. When he’s sure Danny isn’t looking, he flips Stiles off, and Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, going cross-eyed for a moment. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Derek tells him, coming up to sit next to him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You and Jackson are fighting like two year olds. If you keep it up I’m going to _really_ make you fight.” Derek’s eyes flash. 

“Ooh, I like a challenge,” Stiles says, bouncing in his seat. 

Derek shoves him off the stool. It turns out Stiles’ balance is still in question when a large, experienced Alpha werewolf is the one doing the shoving. 

==

Stiles does pretty well at keeping control over his wolf, for a couple days. It’s all pretty fine if nothing irritates him, or he doesn’t get frustrated with himself. But Stiles struggles more than he’ll admit with finding a _way_ to keep control over himself, and he hates every second of it. It’s hard work, and while Stiles has never been afraid of hard work before, this is more of a struggle than he’s ever had. He can feel control slipping through his grip each and every day, and he hates when he wakes up in the morning, moody, eyes amber, threatening to spill over, ruining the rest of his day. 

It all comes to a head a week later. Erica is back from her latest modeling trip, tanned and happy, looking smug. Through the years, he and Erica have come to a simple truce. Stiles tries to avoid doing anything that will make Erica have a smartass response, and Erica says them anyway. 

As it happens, evidently that truce doesn’t work very well when you’re a newly turned werewolf, just looking for a reason to shift and go crazy. “Let’s see if it really helps him all that much anyways,” Erica taunts, and Stiles feels it, the tense snap of anger fly through him, before he’s pinning her against the wall.

“Stiles!” Scott shouts, jumping over the couch. Stiles growls. Erica’s eyes turn, and before he knows it, she’s growling back, her own canines sharp and bright against the sunlight, fighting against him. 

“Oh, shit,” Isaac whines, before running to find Derek, who had gone on a run by himself. 

Erica pushes him backwards with enough force to knock over a side table and the lamp that was sitting on it. Stiles is back on his feet before he realizes it, launching himself at her again. There’s adrenaline and anger pumping through his veins, and he feels this intense urge to hurt Erica; to _maim_ her. 

Right before he’s about to lunge for Erica’s throat, he’s lifted up off her and thrown across the room, crashing into the wall behind him, with Derek right up against him. Derek’s eyes are red, his canines peeking through, and he roars at Stiles. Stiles feels the submission running through his veins, and he crouches low, the growl in the back of his throat immediately dying. Derek glares down at him for a moment longer, before he turns back to Erica. 

“Get out,” he says, “Go. Now.” Erica doesn’t need telling, she’s already halfway out the door, her perfect human features back in place. 

Stiles is breathing hard, half-deranged, and trying, trying, trying to make himself fade back into his own human features, but there’s so much rage coursing through him that he can’t help himself. Derek looks at Scott and Isaac, who are also in the room. “Out,” he says, teeth gritted. “Go.”

Scott hesitates. “I don’t –” he breaks off at the sound of Derek’s growl, flying out of the room, close behind Isaac. 

Derek turns back around to face Stiles, eyes still red, but not nearly as angry looking as he was. “Stiles,” he says calmly, “it’s okay. You can shift back.”

Stiles feels trapped, desperate to please Derek, still trapped inside this body, this _mindset,_ and he can’t talk, even though a thousand words are flying through his head, the one at the top of the list being _sorry._ Derek kneels down next to him, and something registers in the back of Stiles’ mind that Derek almost looks _worried._ He looks _worried_ about Stiles. He reaches out and touches Stiles’ hand. “You have to control yourself,” he says, still gruff, “find something to think about that will bring you back.”

Stiles thinks, long and hard. He thinks about his mother, her honey brown eyes, and the way she laughed every time Stiles put on a magic show for her, always pretending to be surprised at his latest tricks. He thinks about the way she smelled, like Dove soap and Chanel no. 5, a cloud of her scent washing over him every time she hugged Stiles goodnight or goodbye. He thinks about the way she made him _promise_ to grow up happy. 

Derek breathes out a sigh of relief next to him. “Oh,” Stiles says hoarsely. “I just – oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out after staring at Derek for a moment. “I’m just really fucking sorry. I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”

Derek glowers at him. “Of course you weren’t thinking,” he tells him, “you’re a newly turned wolf that got pissed off. The only thing clouding your mind was anger. Stiles, you told me –”

“I _do_ have it under control,” Stiles says quickly. “I just lost track for a moment when Erica got all… Erica,” he says finally, when he can’t think of an accurate description for her.

“What pulled you back?” Derek asks him after a few moments. Stiles clears his throat and sits up straighter.

“My mom,” he says softly, “I was thinking about my mom. About all the things she used to – the way she looked and her smile. It’s been a long time, but I’ll never forget her laugh,” he says, smiling weakly. 

Derek looks thoughtful. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “I know.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything in reply, he just breathes in and out, still surprised by his own outburst, and knowing he owes Erica a huge apology. And the rest of the pack, too, he thinks when he glances outside and sees Isaac and Scott hovering nervously. He’s about to get up and walk out to them, when Derek grips his wrist.

“You’re going to train,” he says. 

“What? What do you mean, I’m going to train. I already know everything from watching everyone else, I don’t - I mean I know I haven’t got the whole wolf thing down yet, but you have to admit, it’s a _little_ overwhelming, huh? I just –”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and seriously. He’s going to need a _dentist._ “You’re going to train, with a few pack members. Starting tonight.”

Stiles hesitates. Deep down inside, he knows it’s what he needs, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He thought he had everything under _control._

“Okay,” he says finally, “I’ll train.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad, I’m… I’m a werewolf now, okay, pleasedon’tkillmeitwasmychoice,” he blurts out. The Sheriff looks stunned, and Derek sighs like he can’t believe this is his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is this is being posted because I just sent chapter four off to editing. 
> 
> The bad news is that chapter four won't be posted until I sent chapter _five_ , which I actually haven't even come close to starting yet. 
> 
> So, sorry guys! Enjoy though! 
> 
> As always thanks to my beta MirajaneScarlet for helping and editing this not once, not twice, but three times. :)
> 
> P.S.
> 
> I'm only mildly better at action scenes than I am at porn scenes (which is to say, in my opinion, I'm terrible at both, despite my beautiful beta's reassurances) so I apologize for the chapter.

Derek leads Stiles outside and stands across the yard, staring at him. Stiles stares back, confused. He feels like he should cross his arms or something; really get into this stare down that Derek is engaging in. “Um,” he says. Derek doesn’t even blink. Stiles starts getting kind of antsy, staring back at him, tapping his foot and shifting his weight. Derek stares until finally Stiles says, “ _What_ are we doing?” 

Derek seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and he breaks his gaze, blinking. “I was thinking,” he says, and Stiles resists the urge to say, _there’s a first time for everything,_ instead just nodding. “Scott, Jackson,” he calls in a normal tone, and Scott and Jackson appear from the house where they’d disappeared to when Stiles and Derek came outside. “You’re going to help,” he says. Jackson smirks a little, pleasure at the thought of finally getting to beat up Stiles, Stiles thinks, and Scott looks nervous. 

Out of everyone, Scott is their best fighter. It’s surprising because he actually really hates physically assaulting anyone, but he’s the toughest, the strongest. Stiles always expected Jackson to be the best one when he came along, but Scott can still kick Jackson’s ass pretty easily. “Don’t you think we should -” Scott starts, but Derek shakes his head.

“You’re helping,” he repeats. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just get this over with,” he tells Scott. Scott looks guilty as he strips his shirt off and walks over to stand next to Jackson, who is still smirking, also shirtless, and looking ready for a fight already. 

Derek stares at Stiles. “What?” Stiles asks, and looks down at himself. “Oh, man. Since I’m a werewolf now, does that mean I have to strip every chance I get?” he demands, tugging at the hem of his shirt, “I’m not really feeling that.” 

“Take it off, Stiles. It’s easier,” Derek replies. Stiles chews on his bottom lip, fiddling with the hem of the shirt for another moment before he tears it off and tosses it aside.

“Christ,” Stiles says, “it’s like I’m surrounded by Chippendale strippers and I’m the nerdy boy who just wants to look like them.”

Jackson snorts. Scott looks like he’s trying to erase the image in his head that Stiles has just painted for him, and Derek just shakes his head and points. “Jackson’s going to fight first. It’s all about instinct, but you have to remember not to let instinct take over to the point that you completely forget your humanity. That’s when killing starts,” Derek says in the same patient tone that he’s perfected with the other wolves. 

Stiles just looks at him for a moment. “Right,” he says nervously, “so I just –” he’s cut off by Jackson slamming into him, and Stiles growls, shifting into his wolf form immediately. He turns around to face Jackson. Jackson’s blue eyes gleam at him happily, as he dances in a circle around Stiles. 

Stiles snaps his jaw, slashing a claw out, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Derek sit down on the porch steps, settling in to watch them. Stiles lunges forward. 

And stumbles when Jackson gets out of the way just in time. 

There’s a budding anger building inside Stiles, frustration at his control and his ability to fight, and he snarls again, lashing out. Jackson dances back. Just when Stiles is about to try again, Jackson tackles him to the ground and lightly nips him on the shoulder, his show of winning. Stiles pushes him off and jumps up. “Again,” he growls, and Jackson laughs. 

“Sure, pup,” he says. They circle each other and after thirty seconds, Stiles lashes out again. Jackson does the same dance, jumping back and circling around Stiles, tackling him. It’s quickly clear to Stiles that last time Jackson was just playing with him, teasing him; he can win much faster than he let on. 

The frustration builds up inside Stiles and instead of trying to focus, Stiles just keeps throwing himself at thin air. Three, four, five times pass before Derek steps up and grabs him by the back of his neck, stopping him. Stiles growls, but stops immediately when he faces Derek’s red eyes. “Concentrate,” Derek tells him quietly, still just as patient. “Focus on the steps Jackson makes. The things he does the same, every time. There’s an error in there – he’s doing it on purpose, to give you a shot. Focus, and _then_ try and catch him.”

Stiles takes a few deep breaths. Derek steps back and lets Jackson circle in again. That’s when Stiles breathes deep, takes precious seconds and investigates every steps Jackson makes. And there it is: the slight falter when he jumps back, to the left. Stiles lurches forward and tackles Jackson, snarling deep and loud. Jackson rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, “so you’re Proud Wolf now, I get it.” He’s shifted back into his human form and lies there while Stiles pants on top of him for a few moments. 

“Alright, Stiles, get off him,” Derek says, “Scott, your turn.” Scott shifts back and forth on his feet. “And don’t hold back,” he warns Scott. “You’re not just tackling, you’re fighting, too. Don’t feign anything.”

“Derek, I – ” 

“Scott,” Derek says, eyes flashing red, and Scott swallows. 

“Alright, alright, fine,” he mumbles, and shifts into his wolf. Stiles longs for moments when shifting will come easily to him, all of the sudden. Scott steps up to Stiles and looks sympathetic. “I’m really sorry about this,” he tells Stiles, and then he lunges forward, sends Stiles flying backwards to land against a tree. Something cracks, but Stiles barely feels the pain over the roaring anger inside of him. Stiles growls and runs forward, intending to tackle Scott, but Scott sends him flying back again. The worst part is that he doesn’t look like he’s _enjoying_ himself, he looks truly _sorry,_ and Stiles kind of hates that look. He wishes he’d take up Jackson’s expression of immense glee at getting to finally, rightfully beat the shit out of Stiles. 

“Alright, stop,” Derek says quietly, but everyone hears him. Scott immediately rushes to move next to Stiles, but Derek pulls him by the back of his neck and makes him stay. Then he walks over to Stiles. “You’re not doing so well,” he tells Stiles obviously. Stiles snarls. 

“It’s really easy,” Stiles says, “I just happen to like getting the shit beat out of me.”

“Stiles, don’t be sarcastic right now,” Derek tells him. “Just do it. You have to maintain control, and give into your instincts at once. You can’t get too angry. You have to pay attention to the movements Scott’s about to make. You have to anticipate his next move.” 

“That’s so easy when I’m flying backwards,” Stiles hisses. 

“Don’t charge him, circle him,” Derek says. “Watch him, don’t get impatient, and _anticipate_ his next move.”

Stiles swallows and stands back up. “Okay. Yeah,” he says. 

He and Scott circle each other, and the next time Scott makes a move to step forward, Stiles jumps back just in time, runs around him, and tackles him to the ground. 

“Not so easy,” Stiles pants, “but I did it.” 

He looks up, and Derek is giving him an appreciative look. It’s the kind of look he always reserves for Stiles, and Stiles is relieved to know that even now, as a werewolf, he’s still receiving them. That Derek doesn’t think of him any differently. It makes a pleased breath fall from his lips as he stands back up. “I’m not so bad, am I?” he demands. 

Derek is still wearing that look, but he shrugs anyways. “Not so bad,” he admits. “Now do it again.”

==

Stiles is in the middle of training with Isaac when they hear his dad’s car pulling up the drive. Stiles looks down at himself. There’s blood and dirt caked all over his jeans, smeared across his upper body, and Stiles swallows. “Shit,” he says, and Derek snaps his head over to him. 

“What?” he demands. Just then, the Sheriff’s car appears and he parks, getting out. 

“Dad,” Stiles says, a little panicked. The rest of the pack is staring curiously at Stiles while his dad walks up with a huge folder in his hands and a frown on his face.

“Son. What are you doing?” He studies Stiles, the blood and dirt streaked across Stiles’ entire body, and then looks back up at him. “Please tell me they’re not using you has a training dummy again.”

There’s a low, threatening growl coming from Derek, and Stiles shrinks back behind Isaac. 

“Not so much,” he says quietly. The Sheriff blinks at him just as Derek whirls around to face Stiles, and growls loudly, eyes red. 

“You didn’t tell him?” he demands through gritted teeth. 

“I – not so much,” he says, and Derek snarls. 

“You didn’t _tell_ him; Jesus, Stiles! That’s something you discuss with your family!”

“Derek it’s not like you’re asking permission to marry me, and I didn’t tell my father you were planning to ask him,” Stiles says. Derek snarls again and Stiles is shocked at how quickly he tilts his head back, baring his throat in submission to him. He hates it, kind of. The fact that his body isn’t entirely his anymore. 

“Hey, whoa!” the Sheriff shouts. “What the hell are we talking about here?”

Stiles swallows. “Tell him,” Derek growls, “now.”

“I – okay, okay,” he says quickly when Derek takes a step towards him. He takes a deep breath and turns to face his dad. “Dad, I’m… I’m a werewolf now, okay, pleasedon’tkillmeitwasmychoice,” he blurts out. The Sheriff looks stunned, and Derek sighs like he can’t believe this is his life now. Scott pinches the bridge of his nose in disbelief, and Jackson snorts laughter. Isaac just moves out of the Sheriff and Derek’s way, in case they decide to slap Stiles or yell loudly, because Isaac hates confrontation still, even after all these years. 

“You – _what?_ ” Stiles’ dad demands. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Derek opens his mouth like he’s going to say, _you’re going to be sorry,_ but closes it when he catches the expression on the Sheriff’s face. 

“What the hell, Stiles?” his dad barks. “This is something you tell your father! This is something we discuss! You don’t just _do_ it! How did you even convince Derek to do it in the first place?”

“There was a very lengthy Reasons Why lists,” Stiles mumbles at the grass. It’s the Sheriff’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose and shake his head. “I wanted this!” Stiles insists. 

“So why the blood and –” the Sheriff waves a hand, gesturing at the mess covering Stiles. 

“I uh… I had some control issues,” Stiles tells him, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“Control issues,” his dad repeats flatly. “Well. I’m glad you wanted this,” he says sarcastically. “It must be great.”

“It’s a gift,” Stiles throws Derek’s own words back at his dad, and Derek’s eyes flash with something, almost guilt, Stiles thinks, as his dad processes that. 

“I – if you wanted it, Stiles. If you’re sure, then there’s nothing I can do about it – it’s too late now anyways,” the Sheriff says. “You’re an adult. I trust that you made the best decision.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Stiles murmurs, “Thanks,” and that’s that. 

“I have a case file,” the Sheriff holds his hands up, “I wanted you to look over it.” He nods at Derek. 

“Of course, come in,” Derek says. He turns to Stiles. “We’re finished. Get cleaned up and don’t track dirt into the house. We’ll be discussing your lying later, though.” Stiles feels like a little boy, being punished, and a bolt of anger flashes through him before he pulls it back and nods. 

Derek and the Sheriff disappear into the house, the rest of the pack following them, except for Stiles and Scott. “Use the shower out back,” Scott shrugs. “I’ll bring you out some clean clothes.” Stiles had forgotten that Derek had an outdoor shower installed for purposes just like this. It doesn’t get much use in the winter and the house gets muddier, but it’s nice for in the summer. 

Stiles nods and heads back, quickly rinsing himself off. When he’s done and dressed in the sweats Scott brought out for him, he heads back into the house and into the dining room where everyone is sitting. Derek eyes him for a moment before passing him the case file. “Possible animal attacks,” he says.

“Like… werewolves? Or something else?” Derek eyes him. “Right. Wolves. A new pack?” Stiles suggests. 

“Same markings on each body,” Stiles’ dad says. “Doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to it, either. Couple was just hiking. They were celebrating their engagement.” Stiles chews on his bottom lips. 

“But… there haven’t been any since this killing, right? Omegas usually can’t control themselves. So… a pack only seems to make sense,” Stiles says, thinking. Suddenly, he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to think about stray omegas and new packs. He’s tired from training, worn out, and he’s tired from having had to reign in his control all day. Stiles scrubs at his eyes and blinks down at the file.

Derek seems to notice his exhaustion because he gives him a semi-worried look. “I’ll have Jackson and Scott run the border, see if they get any new scents around our territory. Since Erica is home, she and Boyd can go up to where the couple was found and see if they find any new scents there. We’ll get back together tomorrow morning. It’s late, now.” The Sheriff nods. 

“How about lunch tomorrow?” Stiles yawns. “I’ll make it.” His dad stands up and claps him on the back.

“Sure, son. Get some sleep.” Stiles leans into the touch. 

“Thanks, dad. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” The Sheriff claps Stiles on the back one more time and disappears out the door. 

Stiles turns around, yawning, stretching his whole body. Derek looks at him for a long moment before he says, “Get some sleep. We’ll discuss how you _lied_ to me and your dad tomorrow, Stiles.”

Stiles swallows. “Was it _really_ a lie though?” He asks, and stops talking when Derek growls at him. “Okay, never mind. Good night!” he says and bounds up the stairs. 

He feels mildly more confident than he did when waking up this morning.


End file.
